There is no good place for a wet hat.
The books in the bag will get wet and we can't have that.
I shake it off.
I think of the guy from the East Coast talking about how the
kids toddle down the hallways as if they're drunk, because
the floors are warped as the wood and the joists
are from 1890.
When he spills a drop of water in the kitchen
it rolls towards the corner like
liquid mercury.
My sister has a better bathtub than I do,
it's giant like a pool, you can almost go swimming.
I was in a river once, deep enough to swim.
I wore goggles and moved like a fish
watching the rocks change under me.
I wonder what it's like to be water.
To be everywhere except in a stone.
In the sky in a thunderhead
suspended.
In the eye of the lady at the edge of the valley
throwing dirt on a pile of rocks.
In the spit of a cow.
On the sweat of a forehead.
In the boiling water of soup.
In the wine before it silences laughter.